People say my life is like a SitCom. Well, I don't think it's that funny...

This weekend was definitely a glimpse back to my past life of being a Fauxcialite last summer.

I must say, I've definitely missed it.

Friday I had a date with a British boy from Northwestern. A date that he scheduled two weeks in advance, I might add. So Brit takes a cab to my house to pick me up and takes me to a super fancy restaurant. We have a delicious and waaaaaay too expensive dinner. A dinner that nearly equalled what I make at my part time job IN A MONTH. For a first date. Despite my awkwardness (and the pressure of having to be more funny /charming /intelligent since he was shelling out so much cash) I had a fantastic time. He was cultured and sweet and intelligent, and had an accent. He is also volunteering at a lemur conservation center this summer. In Madagascar. Yes, just like the movie.

Obviously I was beyond smitten.

On to Saturday.

A boy from my past was in town for one day. A boy that I've been friends with and have had a secret crush on for 5 years (by secret I mean everyone knew except him. Well, honestly, he probably knew). We went to lunch and I remembered why I enjoyed hanging out with him- and looking at him, and I left to go get ready for a Frat Formal (where I would be a "mock date"). After the formal I drunkenly stumbled to a bar to meet up with my friends. And, of course, text Past Boy to meet up with us. He shows up around 3 am to the late bar we were at. Maybe earlier. I had no sense of time at that point. Cliffnotes version: We end up kissing at the bar for the first time ever. And then watched the Sunrise on the beach. And then kissed some more. A lot more. Until he had to go to the airport to catch his early flight. So the ONE TIME he decided to make a move was 24 hours after I have a fabulous date with a guy I decided I would one day marry. In Madagascar. Or England. I hate my life sometimes.

Pop Quiz: Does the rich, charming Brit stand a chance?

If you answered "yes," you've clearly never read this blog.

If you answered "no," you're right and are probably thinking I'm an idiot. Because I am.

Upon telling BFF (from the previous blog)/all my other friends about this, they yelled at me. Before you get the urge to yell at me too, hear me out. Yea, the Brit was charming and nice and treated me to an extremely fancy evening, but do I really want to date someone that I feel that I constantly need to impress? Or would I like to be with someone that I can let into my messy room and not care (this was a HUGE deal for me btw)? And yes, while I'm realistic that nothing can happen with Past Boy (since I'm cursed which means he lives out of state), it made me realize nothing should happen with the Brit either. You can't just keep exaggerating certain parts of your personality and hiding others depending on who you're dating. Compatibility doesn't mean finding someone you can put on a fascade around but still have fun. This is the part that I get grossly Cliche: it's finding someone you can always be yourself around. Really.

I found someone Saturday that I actually let into my messy room. After I pulled my first all nighter and probably looked like a crack head. And I didn't care. Now I dunno if anything will happen between me and Past Boy in the future, but hey, I didn't think anything would EVER happen between us. But I do know that whoever I end up with, it'll be someone who I'll let in when my laundry's all around my floor and not someone I'm embarrassed to order French wine in front of because I can't pronounce it.

Enjoying my sandwiches and beer just as much as my truffle sauce and dessert wine.

Ally

Ivy needs to stick to her guns...

Last night I went on a date.

Things were going well until he told me his favorite band was nickleback.

Ivy said I should continue to date him.

Never taking Ivy seriously again,

Ally

I'm dating a social experiment

Confession. There has been a lot of Plaid bashing on this blog. And while he does do a lot of stupid shit due to his y chromosome, truth be told... he's pretty great. I talk more about the reasons I want to throw him off of a building largely because, well, that's a hell of a lot funnier than a blog titled, "The top 10 reasons I love my little baby puffin boy"

Plaid, as a person, is basically me with shorter hair (it's even kind of the same texture...) and a vaster knowledge of music. But if I had to pick one area we don't see eye to eye, in the least, at all, not one bit... it's dating. Great. The person I'm dating doesn't understand how I perceive dating. That's like the person you're having sex with not understanding sex (but trust me. he does.)

There are a few little differences, such as he thinks affection is okay whereas I think all PDA-ers should be subject to the International Criminal Court. He also thinks it's okay to think about the future, whereas I'd like to pretend my body will implode upon itself before I ever settle down. But the big one is... he doesn't believe in mind games. And if there's ANYTHING I believe in, it's that you should try as hard as you can to fuck with the head of the person you care about (just...kidding?) He's not joking when he says this either; he actually thinks you should be honest with the person you're seeing, to the point where he has TOLD girls if they're just a hook up buddy or something more in a timely fashion! For Christ's sake, I'm not even honest with MYSELF about my dating intentions, let alone any of my ex-boyfriends who I cheated on 7 or 8 times.

Without pretending that I have a doctorate in pop psychology, I'm going to draw a broad and overreaching conclusion about why we don't see eye to eye. His entire dating life in college consisted of a long term relationship with his same girlfriend from high school. My dating life in college has consisted of hundreds of random make outs and a bottle of Jack Daniels. We had LITERALLY opposite experiences. And it had me wondering; Does college dating ruin us all? Because Plaid's experience has cultivated an individual who is honest, optimistic about love, and openly affectionate. My dating experience hasn't exactly left me hard and bitter, but basically I think all relationships are evil and I think I might be an alcoholic.

I'm not saying that the way he turned out is insanely perfect, and we should all forego serial dating in favor of the high school sweetheart path. Chronic monogamy certainly has it's drawbacks (like not getting to make out with literally every person in the bar). But somewhere in between all the drunken disposable hook ups, the complete asshole heartbreakers, and of course the mind fucking... something's gotta give. If your most honest and open relationship was with the guy who only dumped you then hooked up with your friend that ONE time... you're going to have to develop some thicker skin. Or else all the whiskey and ice cream and crying is going to start making you fat and puffy. Then no one will love you! (Thaaanks, Grandma!)

So, no. I'm not about to start belting out "Someday my Prince Will Come". But it couldn't hurt to give a little faith to relationships. Because even though I've dated hundreds of jerks, morons, and creeps, the latest flame isn't any of those things in the least (okay, he's totally creepy, but in a really endearing way I swear!) It may be too late for me to believe in that Disney romance, but I can at least give my all to a real life one. Prince Charming was technically a pedophile anyways.

I guess this is the point where I actually admit that I'm someone's girlfriend...

Ivy

When Harry met Sally they doomed us all...

While I was in class a few weeks back, my Professor brought up an extremely important and relevant issue she felt strongly about. It was an issue that I had actually been debating the weekend before with a group of friends. We discussed whether guys and girls can strictly be platonic friends (I love the classes I take).

Throughout college, I had a multitude of various guy friends ranging from the friend I've known since I was 4 to those "friends" that I hung out with on weekends. There was always one friend, though, that everyone said I would end up with. Sure we were close and argued like an old couple, and yea, he hated everyone I dated and if we went out to eat with our friends we'd feed each other, but that was just how we were. I didn't like him, and despite what many (now) exs thought, nothing was going on between us. For Pete's sake I hooked him up with friends of mine. After a while I got used to the "Are you two dating?" comments which were eventually replaced with the "OMG you two should TOOOOTALLLYYYY date! That would be SO cute!" At first it was ridiculous to hear that. Then funny. Then, two years later, it was just annoying.

Well, what everyone but me thought was inevitable, actually was. Long story short, in the last few months, this BFF and I have had a few sleepovers and I've gotten some presents (read: jewelry and a stuffed animal).

I really don't do the whole "get involved with friends" thing due to a botched relationship/friendship from high school so I was REALLY hesitant about this. That, and the fact that BFF has hooked up with like, 4 of my closest friends over the years. People's pasts are scary enough, but think about what it's like when his past drunken nights were with one of your really hot, fun friends who everyone wants. Yea. Hate my life.

Anyway, I have thought long and hard about where things should go, where I think they're going, what he wants, why he wants it, why now, what's the point if we're graduating, and most importantly, what I want. Well, apparently, I'm MUCH better at coming up with hypothetical answers for BFF and suck at figuring out what I want. Part of me wants something more, part of me doesn't and I can't for the life of me figure out which part to listen to.

My friends don't help at all either. Most of them are so excited at the thought of BFF becoming my BF so when I say "I dunno...kissing him was kinda....weird....not like it was bad, but just, not normal" they dismiss it saying that it's just something I have to overcome and get used to while my other friends (OK fine, just Ivy) quoted the most relevant source: Friends. She reminded me that when Monica and Chandler got together, they said that it just felt right. Well, yea, this didn't really. But lets be honest, do I ever listen to Ivy? Nope. So I let things continue. Which was dumb.

I've been writing this post for about 3 weeks now. I've been replaying every conversation and little thing in my head driving myself crazy trying to figure out what he wants (instead of, you know, just talking to him. Why? Because I'm a girl and talking about important things scares me). The whole time I was writing this post I kept going back and forth on what to think about this whole thing and low and behold, I agree with Ivy. Nothing is meant to develop between us. If it were, he would be trying harder to actually date me- not text me after 1 am on a Wednesday because he's bored.

Honestly, if it were ANY other guy, I would have written him off as a total D-bag booty texter a LOOOONG time ago. But I didn't because we were friends. I let the fact that we had some form of strong relationship get in the way of my better judgement, but really, that should have led me to think this way in the first place. As my friend, he's tried to protect me (read: yell at me multiple times) from jerks who would pull this same shit. He would get mad that I would be dumb enough to think that these guys actually wanted a deep emotional connection when they texted at 1 am and I never listened to him even though I knew he was right. So in my head, I thought he couldn't do the same thing to me knowing how many times it's happened. But he did. And yea, MAYBE he has some feelings that go a little deeper, but that's still not enough. He always told me that I needed to hold out for a guy that would treat me with respect and want to be with me no matter what. I thought for a little while that it was him. It wasn't. He's a good friend for me, but that's it.

Sometimes you get so comfortable with an opposite sex friend that the lines get a little blurred and it's hard to tell what's going on which eventually leads you to question what you want. Yes, you enjoy spending time together and play a huge role in each other's lives, but most of that time, the role you're supposed to play is just the friend. Not everyone is meant to end up with their BF. From now on, I'm disregarding everything my friends tell me are "signs" that BF is in love with me. Sure, he's hated all my guys I bring home, but so have all my female friends. Yea he's gotten me presents, but so have my female friends. Maybe we drunkenly made out, but so have... well, you get the point.

Wishing my life were more like "The Proposal" because Ryan Reynolds is HOT,

Ally

The best dating advice comes from Eleanor Roosevelt

Remember that little quote that's been pummeled into your head since kindergarten? "There's nothing to fear but fear itself." Unfortunately for the late Mrs. Roosevelt, the people of America probably should have also feared the ensuing decade of bread lines, unemployment, and stocking up on toilet paper. But while my love life could be considered depressing, it's hardly the Great Depression. It's more akin to the most recent economic crisis; Nothing that can't be fixed by a black man.

...I digress. While the quote may currently seem as culturally relevant as Tamagatchis, I found myself really thinking about it. What has REALLY caused more detriment to my life? The things I'm afraid of, or the fact that I'm afraid of them? My list of phobias includes, but is not limited to:Acrophobia, algophobia, apiphobia, cacophobia, chiroptophobia, decidophobia, dutchphobia, gamophobia, macrophobia, nudophobia, orientalphobia... and the big one... philophobia.

I am absolutely terrified that one day I might be forced into the situation where I have to...love someone. Most of my fears stem from the fact that my mind likes to think of ways everything can go wrong. Sometimes this is a good thing; as in when I finally come to the conclusion that getting into a car with 3 strange men I just met at the bar is a poor choice (...God, I wish I HAD come to that conclusion...) But sometimes it's terrible thing, like when I irrationally believe my boyfriend is cheating on me with Heidi Klum (and he doesn't even like blondes!)

But that's the reason philophobia is my favorite of all phobias. It's the easiest one to justify, because most of these "irrational" thoughts have ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED. I've been cheated on with strangers and with friends. I've cheated on people for no apparent reason with 7 different dudes in one night. I've dumped people over text, after things were going seemingly well. I've been dumped over facebook chat, after things were going seemingly well. People fall in and out of love faster than I throw up after chugging 3 Long Islands. Add all this up, and being love feels a lot like standing on a mountain surrounded by bees and Asian people; absolutely frightening.

Now some people are thrill seekers and absolutely get off on this feeling. I do not. I'm being a risk seeker if I decide to wear lace underwear in the morning. And while I realize that my love averse behavior is putting me on the Metra to Cat Lady Town, that doesn't mean I'm ready to take the plunge.

So sorry there, Eleanor. While you may have given some sound advice, your husband also cheated on you with your social secretary. So maybe the only thing to fear... is women who are hotter than you.

At least I'm not blogophobic,

Ivy

If I were your third grade teacher, you'd get a check minus.

The thing about winter break is that it is more destructive to my love life than Jose Cuervo. It is impossible to meet any fresh dating material while hitting the south suburban club scene, unless you have an affinity for Ed Hardy trucker caps and community college. Now if you have an attention addiction stronger than Amy Winehouse's addiction to snorting every substance known to man, this reduces you to recycling former love interests.

When you start trying to rekindle things with past prospects, you start remembering why they never quite made the leap from Mr. Right Now to Mr. Right. Most of them are at best intolerable, and at worst deserve to die in a fire. I sent a text message one night to a cute med student I had met over the summer, feigning interest in how his life had been going...and opened the Pandora's box of texts, phone calls, and IMs. I have no problem with 500 text messages a day, provided the guy has something witty/smart/cute/interesting to say (hello, I literally have tried to snort attention off of a hooker's ass). 95% of the time, they do not. Nothing this med student had to say fell into the magical 5%.

Sample conversation (which happened approximately 60 different times):

Him- Wanna come over and watch a movie?

Me- You live kind of far. You could come here.

Him- I'm already all cozy in my bed. You can climb in with me. We can cuddle.

Me- I don't even like to cuddle.

Him- You never want to hang out with me.

No shit I never want to hang out with you. That's because you never suggest anything even remotely appealing to do. All of your suggestions involve me riding the train for 45 minutes into the ghetto, to hang out at your apartment (which probably doesn't even have couches) and cuddle with you. And let's be honest, when you SAY cuddle you MEAN you're going to try and date rape me for 2 hours before finally awkwardly passing out.

Listen, I'm not saying you have to get me a 200 dollar dinner before I have sex with you; I've had sex with people for Taco Bell. What I'm saying is that your hang out suggestion makes you seem incredibly, incredibly boring. You seem like the kind of guy whose idea of an epic Saturday night is watching ESPN with your friends in your apartment with two cases of Busch, before you drunk dial your ex girlfriend and cry to her for a half an hour. You also seem like you hate effort, in every sense of the word, as demonstrated by your inability to leave your apartment ever. Which means if I were to somehow sleep with you, I would enjoy about 7 minutes of sex. And enjoy is really pushing it.

And maybe it's my fault for texting you one fucking time asking how you were doing. Maybe that one generic text gave you the impression that you should try to get me to come to your apartment on a daily basis. And maybe I really wasn't clear enough when I said "No, I'm not going to go to your apartment." or when I said "No, I'm never coming to your apartment." or when I said "No, you're completely retarded for thinking I am ever coming to your apartment."

The next time this lazy jackass asks me to come to his damn apartment, you know what? I'm gonna do it. And I'm going to nail his roommate, then leave. Guess it might be worth the trip after all.

Call an escort service. She'll come to your apartment,

Ivy

Seriously, guys, dating gives me ulcers.

Since ending my coupled status, I've attempted to regain my title as drunken make out queen. This mission proved successful the weekend I went to Soundbar, ate pizza in a random guy's hotel room, threw up and passed out on my bathroom floor, then made out with a hot German with a lip ring (Not necessarily in that order. Okay, fine, in that order...)

The following weekend, I met two adorable and shockingly literate men while out... and while I didn't sloppily make out with them in any alleys, I did give both of them my number to play my odds (Okay, fine, and made out with one of them in the alley. And the other in a basement.) Well kids, when it rains it pours, and Mr. Friday and Mr. Saturday soon became Mr. Sunday Night Date and Mr. Monday Night Date.

Somewhere in between trying on my 47th outfit and listening to three different Tegan and Sara albums, it hit me: Dates don't excite me. Dating is a lot like reading James Joyce novels. I don't actually want to do it, but I feel like a lesser person if I don't. There's nothing fun about one dimensional conversation, having to shave my legs, or pretending to eat less than Kate Moss.

Why, why, oh why can't it be socially acceptable to make out with hot exchange students every weekend right before they move back to Mozambique/Liechtenstein/Bolivia? Why do I have to....get to KNOW people? Or even worse...start to CARE about people?

Maybe it's a slightly cynical, misanthropic attitude. But expectations tend to lead to disaster, whereas one time make outs tend to lead to hilarious stories. Although I guess disaster leads to hilarious stories too.

Say goodnight and go,

Ivy